I begin in peaceful reflection. The plastic trays have all been gathered in—and covered in blankness. A kind middle-aged man stands up and walks from the stand to the podium. A cerebral man—but also, at least from afar—a slightly boring man. A starched white shirt and olive green suit. A receding hairline with comforting mannerisms and a pattern of strong enunciation. Also, the light is pouring through the south-facing windows and colliding with the tranlucent white curtain held in soft undulations. The stucco and white-painted cinderblock are all washed in late afternoon light. The kind (if boring) man has already begun to speak on miracles. With earnestness and intelligence he dispenses wisdom on the topic. A wisdom which is probably too often ignored. But the blue padded seat is warm against my body. And my body is heavy in itself as my mind begins an unhurried retreat from consciousness. The attendance is rather sparse, I semi-consciously note (with some guilt), as I enter the proto-nap stage. There is no doubt that the speaker will note my soon-to-be nodding head and slumped-over shoulders, and I hope he takes none of this personally. I have nothing against him—or his talk. In fact, his talk is perfectly above average. He’s confident and knowledgeable and I can sleep on these Sundays in ways I can only daydream of when it’s fast and testimony meeting. There is a palpable anxiety on those days. It’s totally unscripted, and totally free-form, and I’m wrenched between wanting someone to stand up and then wanting someone to sit down. I’m also perfectly held here by all these things that have given my life meaning and shape through the past 27 years. The Sunday afternoon chapel is a thoroughly (though not exhaustively) known entity, and I often feel fitted to it, or for it. It may be that the line between secure and bored is porous and shifting, and one that exists more in perception than in definition. But a secure and pleasant boredom I can take—in fact I will take and delight in it. For now, as I take my leave of consciousness from this meeting, I feel something saintly grow within me. So perhaps it will be, that on the border of holy boredom and repetitive serenity, one day, I may just be saved.
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